


Ephemerality

by newtheglue



Series: Eternally Yours [2]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Afterlife, Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, But He Gets Better, Depression, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Minho Is A Good Bro, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Thomas is sad, but different i guess, dad jokes, not too much but tagging just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 09:16:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16405598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtheglue/pseuds/newtheglue
Summary: It’s funny, in a sick, twisted sort of way, that Thomas thinks of flowers as he stares at Newt’s body crumpling to the ground.





	Ephemerality

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for the bad writing™ - round 2

It’s funny, in a sick, twisted sort of way, that Thomas thinks of flowers as he stares at Newt’s body crumpling to the ground. That as Thomas wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s lifeless form, his mind is a jumbled mess of sunflowers and marigolds.

He thinks of Newt smiling and laughing and crying, and how he had looked surrounded by yellow flowers that Thomas hadn’t bothered to learn the names of. He thinks of Newt and how similar he was to them. They were both delicate, and wild, and unique, and so very _beautiful._

But flowers don’t last forever.

They’re stunning for a breathtaking moment, but then they wilt away, until there’s nothing left but the crumpled petals.

And Newt, beautiful, incredible Newt, had done just that.

“ _No, no, no_. _No_. _Newt_.” he hears a voice whisper, then he realizes that it’s his _own_ voice. He hears people behind him. Someone sobs. Someone comes to a crashing halt. Someone says his name. Thomas barely registers any of it. He can’t _move_. His eyes are locked on the boy underneath him, on the lifeless black eyes and harsh, dark veins against sickly pale skin.

He can barely _recognize_ Newt, and it’s _terrifying._

Newt dying had never even been a _possibility_ in his mind. Not even when inhuman snarls had left his mouth with trails of black blood and spit. Because Newt _couldn’t_ die, not _Newt_ , anyone but him.

_Please don’t take him from me, please, please, please._

Thomas doesn’t know what to do. He’s _lost_ . He’s lost and he isn’t sure if his heart is beating anymore because _it hurts, it hurts, it hurts so much, make it stop, please-_

So he stops it.

He shoves everything down. The tears, the pain, _Newt_ \- he locks it all away.

He stands, and begins walking toward WICKED’s headquarters.

_He’s going to make every last one of them pay._

 

* * *

 

He watches Teresa _fall, fall, fall_. He watches her body disappearing into flames and rubble, and it feels unreal.

He _screams_.

He screams so much that his lungs burn. Tears are blurring his vision- or maybe that’s the blood loss. He can’t bring himself to care either way.

He screams because they’re gone. Chuck. Teresa. Newt. They’re dead, and it’s all his fault.

When his lungs ache too much to yell anymore, and his body is telling him to close his eyes, he allows his body to fall back. He’s so _tired_.

Minho is yelling at him. He sounds angry. Or scared? Maybe both.

Thomas feels a brief pang of sadness for his friend. He doesn’t want to leave Minho alone.

But then he remembers Gally and Fry and Brenda, and wonders if Minho will be better off. He hopes so, because Thomas… he doesn’t know if he _wants_ to go to the Safe Haven. It sounds a lot easier to just… let go. It sounds peaceful.

It sounds a lot like something Thomas wants.

 _I'll see you soon, Newt_ , Thomas thinks, before letting his eyes slip shut.

 

* * *

 

 _Thomas_ _dreams of nights._  

_He dreams of nights in The Glade. They’re lying in the grass, sides pressed against one another’s. The only sound is Newt’s voice talking about the universe, about nebulae, and planets, and galaxies. One of Newt’s hands is pointing to the stars, the other intertwined with Thomas’s. Constellations reflect in Newt’s eyes, and Thomas thinks (knows) Newt is made of stardust._

_He dreams of the nights before The Scorch, both of them lying in the bottom bunk of the bed. Newt wipes away Thomas’s tears, whispering that everything will be alright. Newt tells him that Chuck would be proud of him, that Alby would be too, and Thomas thinks (knows) Newt is too kind for the life he’s been given._

_He dreams of the nights in The Scorch. They’re exhausted and scared and tired of losing people, but somehow, Newt is still strong. He kisses Thomas’s forehead, and says his nickname like a prayer. He tells Thomas that there’s a place for them somewhere, and that he won’t let Thomas give up. Because they didn’t lose Chuck, Alby, and Winston for Thomas to quit. He tells Thomas that he loves him, and Thomas thinks (knows) Newt is too good for someone like him._

_He dreams of the nights before they rescue Minho. Newt has been quieter than usual, and Thomas should notice, but he doesn’t. Selfish, selfish, selfish. Instead, he cries over Minho and Teresa, and Newt tells him that it isn’t his fault. He plans, and plans, and plans, until his eyes blur and his legs shake, and Newt tells Thomas that he matters too. He takes care of Thomas when Thomas can’t do it himself. He holds Thomas together like glue, and Thomas thinks (knows) that Newt is the love of his life._

_He dreams of the night in The Last City. Newt’s eyes are going black, and Thomas hates himself for not realizing sooner. The veins climb Newt’s neck, acting as a ticking timer. Thomas has never wanted anything more than to save Newt. He tries, he tries, he tries, but Newt is screaming and attacking and Thomas almost lets Newt kill him. But Newt has the gun to his head, and Thomas fights him. He can’t lose Newt, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t. He just needs to stall for a moment longer and then- it’s too late. The knife is lodged between Newt’s lungs as he chokes out a quiet, “Tommy.” Then he’s falling, and Thomas thinks (knows) that he just lost the only good thing that’s ever happened to him._

 

* * *

 

When Thomas wakes up, the only thing his mind registers is _pain_. His side is aching and burning, and it hurts so bad that Thomas nearly screams. He would’ve, if it wasn’t for the pressure surrounding his throat. He reaches out, his subconscious desperately looking for someone’s hand to hold through the pain.

It feels like he can’t _breathe_ ; like someone’s hands had tried to strangle- 

 _Oh_.

The memories flood back into his mind all at once, crashing into him like a tsunami. Teresa’s terrified face growing smaller and smaller as she falls into the flames below. Newt’s lip curling up just slightly, as if he’d found peace in that last moment, before he collapses lifelessly to the ground. 

Almost immediately, the physical pain doesn’t hurt so bad. The ache in his side feels dull compared to the weight he feels in his chest. His labored breathing suddenly isn’t caused from the hand-shaped bruises around his neck.

He sits up quickly, his vision blurring for a brief moment before the room around him clears. _Where am I?_

Thomas holds onto the edge of the bed as he stands, wincing at the pain in his side. He can vaguely make out the sounds of… water? The ocean, maybe? He isn’t sure if he knows what waves actually sound like.

As he steps into the sun, he feels that the landscape around him is bittersweet. It’s beautiful. It’s some kind of beach, huts scattered around, the place practically buzzing with people. Thomas just wishes Newt and Teresa could see it.

He can almost hear Teresa grumbling about the sand, her hands weaving straw together for the huts. He imagines her grin as she watches the younger kids running around, building castles and mazes of sand.

Thomas can picture Newt falling into his leadership role, gently guiding people into life at this new Safe Haven. He can practically feel Newt’s hand intertwined with his own as they watch the sun set behind the infinite sea.

The thoughts are enough to make his side and throat hurt again, but instead of allowing himself a moment to think about everything that has happened, he keeps walking. He _needs_ to find Minho. Because if _anything_ had gone wrong and Minho _wasn’t_ here… Thomas doesn’t know that he could be here either. He couldn’t be surrounded by people who still had living, breathing friends. 

Somewhere, though, someone at least gives half a shit about Thomas, because he only walks for a few more seconds before he’s face-to-face with his friends. He stops dead in his tracks.

Fry, Brenda, and Jorge are there, but Thomas barely registers them. He knows he should feel guilty. He should feel selfish for only wanting to see one person, but he can’t make himself feel anything but relief. Because Minho is right there, and he looks so _tired_ and _lost_ , and Thomas knows the tears in his friend’s eyes match his own.

Thomas tries to get his mouth to move. He tries to force out an “ _I’m_ _sorry_ ” but his throat feels tight. He wouldn’t be able to get the words out anyway. Instead, he moves forward, meeting Minho halfway, and hugs him so tightly that he thinks his lungs may burst. 

And when a quiet sob is heard, neither of them bother to figure out which one of them it was.

 

* * *

 

“We’ve come a long way together,” Vince is saying. “So many have sacrificed so much to make this place possible. Your friends… and your family…” Thomas doesn’t miss the way his voice wavers with emotion. He wonders if Vince still misses Mary as much as he did in the beginning. He hopes it gets easier, but the longing in his chest suggests otherwise. “So, here’s to the ones who couldn’t be here! Here’s to the friends we lost!” The people around him raise their drinks. Thomas stares at the fire, fighting away tears. “This place is for you. It’s for all of us. But this,” Vince says, gesturing to the large stone beside him, “this is for them. So, in your own time, in your own way… come make your peace.” He slams down the tool on the tree trunk beside him. With a seemingly newfound confidence, he yells, “And welcome to the Safe Haven!”

The group around him bursts into cheers and hollers. People he doesn’t know make their way to the rock, picking up the blade to carve out the names of their loved ones. Thomas can make out a few of the girls from Group B smiling brightly, but none of them make a move to stand. Not even the blonde girl, Sonya, who reminds Thomas so much of Newt that his heart aches to think about it. 

Thomas attempts a smile (which probably looks more like a grimace than anything) and claps his hands.

After a while, his friends integrate into the crowd. Jorge goes to Aris, trying to get the kid to crack a smile, which doesn’t seem to be working too well. Brenda, Frypan, and Gally are smiling, which helps ease Thomas’s pain a bit. He’s glad they’re happy, at least.

Minho doesn’t move from his side. He doesn’t look any happier than Thomas.

“This is gonna be a good home for us,” his friend says, voice flat. Thomas turns his head, but can’t meet Minho’s eyes, fearful of seeing his own grief reflected there. 

“Yeah,” Thomas replies, voice still rough from the finger-shaped bruises on his throat, the only physical reminder he had that Newt had been _real_.

He hears Minho take a sharp breath. He seems to be hesitant about something, and Thomas selfishly hopes Minho doesn’t blame him for… everything.

After a lapse in conversation, and a faint _jingle_ sound, Minho says, “You had this on you when you were passed out.” Thomas looks to see Minho holding-

Oh. Newt’s necklace.

He reaches out, taking the object as gently as possible, half afraid it might crumble in his hands, just as Newt had.

“Figured I’d keep it safe for you,” Minho adds. Thomas stares at the silver necklace in his hands, running his fingers across the cord.

“Thanks, Minho,” is all he can manage.

“See you out there.”

“See ya.” Thomas looks up as Minho stands. His friend pats his shoulder, before disappearing into the crowd.

He stares at the crowd for a moment, before bringing his attention back to the necklace.

_Why had Newt wanted him to have this so badly?_

He twirls it in his hand for a moment, and squints when he realizes the pendant has an opening. When he pulls rolled up paper from it, his heart flips.

 _No_ …

As he unrolls it, the handwriting starts to become visible. Thomas feels sicker and sicker.

Then he sees it, and it hits him like a punch to the stomach.

~~_Dear Tommy_ ~~

_Dear Thomas_

Thomas folds the paper back slightly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He takes a shaky breath. Tears burn behind his eyes.

Newt had _known_. He had known, and he had thought to write Thomas a _letter_.

Thomas takes a breath. He feels the shock he’d felt since waking up beginning to crack, something sharp and painful taking its place. It’s _nauseating_.

He swallows before turning his eyes back to the letter.

~~_Dear Tommy_ ~~

_Dear Thomas,_

_This is the first letter I can remember writing. Obviously, I don’t know if I wrote any before the maze, but even if it’s not my first, it’s likely to be my last._

_I want you to know I’m not scared. Well, not of dying anyway. It’s more forgetting. It’s losing myself to this virus, that’s what scares me. I’m scared of losing who I am. I’m scared of losing_ you _, and I’m scared of losing my friends. So every night I’ve been saying their names out loud. Alby, Winston, Chuck. And I just repeat them over and over, like a prayer, and it all comes flooding back._

_Just the little things, like the way the sun used to hit the Glade at that perfect moment, right before it dipped beneath the walls. And I remember the taste of Frypan’s stew. I never thought I’d miss that stuff so much. I remember Minho, and how he could make me laugh, even when all I wanted to do was cry._

_And I remember you. I remember the first night you came up in the box, just a scared little greenie who couldn’t even remember his own name. I remember that night, at the bonfire, when we were stupid and drunk, and I kissed you for the first time. And I remember being_ terrified _when you ran into the maze. But from the moment you did that (still unbelievably stupid, by the way), I knew I would follow you anywhere._

_And I have. We all have._

_If I could do it all over again, I would. And I wouldn’t change a thing._

_My hope for you, is when you’re looking back years from now… you’re able to say the same thing._

_The future is in your hands, Tommy. And I know you’ll find a way to do what’s right. You always have._

_Take care of everyone for me. And take care of yourself. You deserve to be happy._

_Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for being my everything._

_I love you._

_Goodbye, Tommy._

_Newt._

Thomas bows his head, allowing his emotions to come to the surface. Tears run down his cheeks, and Thomas halfheartedly wipes at them with his sleeve. His heart is racing wildly in his chest.

But he feels better, even if it’s only for a moment.

Newt hadn’t been _afraid_. That alone comforts Thomas more than anything. He hadn’t been scared of dying. He hadn’t wanted anything to play out differently. Newt had been at peace with his fate, and that was all Thomas could have hoped for. 

He glances up at the stars, remembering lying under them with Newt, listening to him rambling about things that he’d found in an old space book WICKED had sent up. If Newt ended up anywhere, Thomas hoped it was with the stars. And he knew Newt would be the brightest one.

 _Thanks, Newt_ , he thinks, before standing to go join his friends.

 

* * *

 

Thomas doesn’t sleep that night. His brain is a chorus of names, so blended together that they lose meaning after a while. He stares at the roof, listening to the quiet sounds of his friend’s sleeping near him. 

His friends all have nightmares, he realizes during the third hour, but they all show them differently. Frypan whimpers quietly every few minutes, the sounds breaking the otherwise silent room. Gally shakes, his body quivering under the thin blankets. Brenda’s hands curl into the hammock, like she’s clinging on for dear life. Minho’s breath hitches, and every so often, he’ll quietly utter a name in his sleep.

Thomas _hates_ it. He hates that he could’ve prevented all of this- the tears, the whimpers, the nightmares. It’s all his fault.

He leaves the hut during the fifth hour, unable to stand one more second of his friends’ suffering.

The sun has started to peak above the waves, casting long shadows across the beach. It feels wrong, the sun rising so beautifully without Newt and Teresa there to see it. He wonders how many more he’ll see in his life.

Thomas grips the vial in his pocket, feeling a heavy weight on his chest. He takes it out carefully, twirling it between his fingers. The blue liquid sloshes around, almost hypnotizing to him.

He could do it. He could throw it in the ocean right now, and no one would ever know. It’d be his revenge- a last ‘ _fuck you_ ’ to WICKED. Everything they’d worked so hard for; everything they’d tortured hundreds of kids for- lost in the ocean forever. WICKED would deserve it. They’d been the reason for Teresa and Newt’s death, so why should he keep this for _them_?

Another part of him wants to crush it in his hands, to feel the glass cut into his palm. If he had waited, if he had held Newt off for _ten seconds,_ Thomas could’ve given him this damn vial. He could’ve cured him. Why should _Thomas_ keep it when the person who deserved it the most died moments away from being cured? Why does _he_ deserve it?

But then another image comes to mind. A young boy running to Thomas, _begging_ for Thomas to use the cure on his friend. His friend, with black veins climbing his throat. His friend, who goes from calm to rabid in a matter of seconds. His friend, who looks a lot like Newt.

Thomas blinks, tears sliding down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

And he slides the vial back into his pocket.

 

* * *

 

Everything feels wrong.  
  
He sees in in the way Gally trails off every time Newt’s name leaves his mouth, eyes glazing over with a hurt Thomas hadn’t expected. It’s in the way Frypan sometimes slips up and makes one too many plates, and it sends him into a mess of tears and apologies. It’s Minho joking with Thomas one minute, and being inconsolable the next. The way Minho always looks over his shoulder when he takes a joke a little too far, expecting Newt to scold him for it, and then looking so broken when he doesn’t see his best friend there.  
  
It’s the way Thomas reaches for Newt’s hand, only to remember the person he loves the most is gone. It’s Thomas’s heart feeling so empty that he’s not even sure if he’s really alive.  
  
He feels it most in moments like this- when it’s just him and Minho. They’re sat at the edge of the beach, where the sand meets the grass, and it’s eerily quiet. The only sound is the waves crashing on the shore. Thomas realizes it’s sort of funny- how dependent he had become on noise.

In the Glade, it had never been silent. The air was always filled with the chattering of the Gladers, or Chuck’s voice asking Thomas a question. Even at night, Thomas was always able to hear the grievers in The Maze over the boys near him snoring. The Scorch had been quieter, but still filled with cranks screeching or buildings crumbling.  
  
But this… this was the worst. There’s nothing to distract him from the pain of his broken heart here.

His fingers curl around the grass to avoid reaching for a dead boy’s hand. It does little to comfort him.

“Do you think about him?” Minho asks. His friend barely looks at him anymore, and Thomas wonders if it’s because Minho blames him, or because they’d once been three instead of two.

“Every damn second,” Thomas says, just so he can hear something. Just so he can feel his lungs vibrating around the words, reminding him that he’s not dead, despite how he feels.

“I hope he’s happier, wherever he is.” Minho’s voice is quiet. There’s another thing Thomas has noticed. The Gladers are so _quiet_ now. None of them sound like the kids they’re supposed to be.

Finally, Minho chuckles lightly. Thomas looks at him, eyebrows drawn together. “I bet Chuck has been yappin’ Newt’s ears off nonstop.”

The thought is enough to bring a hesitant smile to Thomas’s face.

He thinks things may be looking up for Minho, and he wonders if maybe one day, just maybe, he may start feeling better too.

 

* * *

 

It’s been roughly three months since they’d arrived the day Minho snaps.

They’re all sat around for dinner, and Thomas doesn’t even realize what’s happening until Minho is out of his seat and punching another kid.

Thomas scrambles out of his seat to grip the back of Minho’s shirt, Gally and Brenda right with him.

The other kid is sporting a bloodied nose, and Minho is practically foaming at the mouth.

“I didn’t see _you_ doing anything to help!” Minho is screaming. They finally manage to get both kids contained enough so there’s no more risk of injury.

“It wouldn’t have mattered what _I_ did! You- _he_ had the cure!” The kid yells, pointing at Thomas. “And all you guys care about are the _two_ you lost!”

“Fuck you, kid,” Thomas finds himself snarling. _Two_.

 _“No!”_ He continues. “No! Do you- do you know how many we lost? There’s only three of us! There’s only _three_ from my maze!”

 _There’s only four of us,_ Thomas almost bites back, but the kid resumes speaking before he can open his mouth.

“And what? You grieve for _two_ , and one of them was _WICKED_. Some hero you are.”

“You don’t know anything about my grief,” is all Thomas can grit out.

Chuck. Alby. Winston. The whole goddamn Glade, and all the Gladers he caused to die. He grieved for Minho, for Gally, for Frypan. For who they had been. He grieved for people he didn’t know, people that had existed before WICKED stole his memories.

There was more to his grief than two people.

He can feel Minho starting to shake. That’s when he looks to his friend and sees that his eyes are shiny.

“Let me take him,” Thomas says softly to Gally and Brenda. Minho looks on the verge of shattering.

Thomas takes his friend’s wrist and begins leading him out of the room, when the boy calls, “You can’t even finish a fight!”

Thomas doesn’t reply. The boy sounds like Minho looks. _Broken, broken, broken._

_My fault._

Thomas doesn’t stop walking until they reach the woods. Something about the trees are achingly familiar. They remind him a bit of the deadheads from home.

Minho tugs his wrist free from Thomas’s grip, and collapses against the nearest tree.

And he starts _sobbing_.

“Minho…” Thomas says. He _hates_ this. He hates seeing his friend curled into himself, crying with everything he has, struggling to get a breath between sobs.

“I lost- I lost everything, Thomas.”

Thomas sits beside Minho, and wraps his arms around his friend as tight as he can. “I’m sorry, Min. I know. I’m sorry.” He feels tears drenching his neck and shirt. He isn’t sure if they’re his or Minho’s. 

“We tried. We _tried_. They’re all gone.” Thomas’s lungs ache at Minho’s words. He sounds as defeated as Thomas feels. “And he- that _kid_ -”

“-is grieving,” Thomas says. “It doesn’t make it okay. But he’s a kid, like you said. Kids aren’t made for grief.”

Minho lets out something that resembles a mix of a sob and a laugh. “You sound like him.” Thomas doesn’t know how to reply. Minho hiccups on a sob. “Whenever I think it might stop hurting… it just- it comes back worse, and I- dammit, Thomas. I can’t stop thinking about them. Any of them. Things they said, things they did, things they _liked_. It won’t stop.” 

“I don’t think you want it to,” Thomas says. “If you stop knowing who they were, then they stop existing, and… I think that’d be worse.”

“Your five brain cells workin’ overtime today?”

Thomas snorts. “Shut up.”

They sit like that for a moment, Minho’s tears slowing while Thomas… tries not to think. When Minho shifts away, Thomas unhooks Newt’s necklace from where it had been resting between his collarbones. 

“Here,” he says, placing the necklace in Minho’s lap.

“Your necklace?” Minho grins, smile still a bit watery. “Didn’t think you were the proposing type, but if you think we’re ready then-”

Thomas rolls his eyes. “Will you shut up and put it on?” Minho clasps it around his neck with minimal… facial expressions. “It was his.”

“Newt’s?” Minho asks, voice lacking the mirth it had a second ago. Thomas nods. He still can’t bring himself to say Newt’s name aloud. That meant everything was real.

Minho immediately moves to unhook it. “I can’t take his necklace from you. It’s all-”

“He gave me a letter,” Thomas manages, stopping Minho. He hates having to mention it. Minho deserved a letter. Minho hadn’t gotten Newt killed. Thomas had.

“Oh.” Thomas nearly flinches. Minho sighs. “Whatever you’re thinking- don’t. I’m not mad that he didn’t write me one.”

“How did you know-”

“Because I know you, and so did Newt.” Thomas frowns. “He knew you’d need the words more than me. He didn’t even know if I was _alive_. I don’t need a letter to know he loved me, and he knew that.” Minho smiles a little. “But he knew that you’re a disaster, and that you’d be even worse without… he knew that you needed reassurance. And that’s okay. You don’t have to feel guilty for everything.”

Thomas swallows, and nods a bit. “Just… keep the necklace.”

“Obviously. It’s an engagement gift.” Thomas rolls his eyes, and they both stand, stretching a bit.

The begin their walk back to camp, and they’re almost back when Minho says, “Hey, Thomas?” 

“Hmm?”

Minho’s voice is quiet, halfway between nervous and sad. “Could I read that letter sometime?”

Thomas smiles. “Of course.”

 

* * *

 

Thomas… shuts down.

Minho needs him. His friends need him. This _community_ needs him.

Grieving, crying, processing… he doesn’t have time for that anymore. Grief isn’t supposed to last this long anyway.

So he buries it- deep in his soul, locked away with memories of a blue-eyed girl and a blond boy who have become too painful to remember.

Thomas needs to forget everything. He needs to forget the pain. He needs to forget the memories of _her_ falling into the flames. Thomas needs to forget _him_ entirely.  

He doesn’t need that part of himself to be a leader.

He has a community to build, friends to heal, people to protect.

Besides, he’s _fine_.

 

* * *

 

It’s better.

Thomas smiles, he laughs- maybe more than he had before.

His friends heal and move on, maybe not entirely, but enough to smile about the past. 

The Safe Haven blossoms into a place full of life and warmth.

And they’re okay.

So why does he feel empty?

 

* * *

 

Thomas’s guarded core takes a blow when Jorge dies two years after their arrival.  And suddenly the crushing feeling he’d held at bay for two years threatens to consume him again.

_No matter what I do, no matter how safe they are, they all die._

And Thomas breaks.

 

* * *

 

The group finally splits.

They get their own little shacks, places that are supposed to feel like home. Vince had said it was good, healthy even, for them to experience the privacy that people had been adamant about before the world fell apart.

Thomas doesn’t like it. He isn’t near them anymore, and his place feels cold at the sudden absence. He doesn’t feel the same warmth he’d felt in their shared hut.

It feels a lot like the final step away from The Maze, and Thomas isn’t ready.

He wakes up screaming the first night, and the night after that, and every night since then.

The thoughts of his old home plague his dreams. It’s too much. Their faces, their screams, their _blood_.  

Thomas stops sleeping.

 

* * *

 

His friends are worried.

They act like they’ve seen a ghost when Thomas finally bothers to show up to eat (he can’t even _remember_ the last time he actually ate), and Thomas supposes he looks like one.

But they don’t mention anything. They act like everything’s normal, but Thomas isn’t _that_ dumb.

Gally doesn’t tease him. Fry won’t _look_ at him. Brenda and Minho… they can barely speak to him without having a shake to their voice.

Thomas can’t stand it. He hates worrying them when he’s not _worth_ it.

Everyone’s _dead_ , and it’s _his_ fault, and his friends are worried about _him_.

Thomas has never hated himself more.

 

* * *

 

Thomas doesn’t remember a lot of things in his life, but he remembers falling.

The first day in the Glade, with the grass softening his body’s harsh impact onto the ground.

The gentle blush and shy smile that Newt had directed at _Thomas_ of all people. The quiet words and soft kisses. Everything Newt was, and everything he let Thomas become. He hadn’t minded the fall.

His heart falling to his feet as his eyes found the black veins crawling up Newt’s wrist.

The Last City, and the splash of freezing water as they escaped from WICKED. And the nauseous flip of Thomas’s stomach at the hacking coughs that followed.

His hope, his future, his everything, falling to the ground with a knife lodged in his chest.

The crumbling building, and Teresa falling into the flames, just out of Thomas’s reach.

Thomas wants to fall, just one last time.

 

* * *

 

He can’t really remember what they were supposed to be celebrating. An anniversary, maybe? Or maybe it wasn’t for any particular reason.

All he knew was that Gally had provided alcohol, and that he was going to drink like there was no tomorrow.

Because if the night went as planned, there wouldn’t be.

Minho casts him a worried glance after he’s downed his fourth drink, but Thomas, ever the lightweight, can already feel his soul untangling itself from the dark corner he’d shoved it to.

His eyes find the rock with everyone’s names carved into its surface. A little clumsily, he makes his way towards it.

He runs a hand over Newt’s name. “Sorry,” he mumbles, the word drowned out by the celebration around him. He retracts his hand with a resigned sigh.

“Hey,” comes a voice from behind him. Thomas turns to see Brenda. Her eyebrows are scrunched in what appears to be worry.

Thomas is so tired of making them worry.

“Hey,” Thomas replies, luckily not slurring too much. 

“We saved a spot for you by the fire…” she trails off. “Are you okay?”

 _Last chance_ , his brain chides.

“Yeah,” Thomas says. “Yeah, uh… I’ll be there in a sec. Gotta pee. Save my spot.”

“Alright. Just… don’t wander too far, okay?” Brenda offers a tiny smile. Thomas tries to return it, but it probably isn’t convincing.

With a little stumble, Thomas begins the walk towards the cliff by the edge of the trees.

The effects of Gally’s drinks become more apparent the closer he gets, his walk turning to a stagger, thoughts turning fuzzy.

He feels his emotions bubbling up as the cliff comes into view. Then there’s tears, and _how long has it been since he cried?_

He’s so, so _tired_.

He can’t do this anymore. Not without _him_. Not when people, good, kind people, were dead because of Thomas’s blind hope. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.  

“Can’t, can’t, _can’t,”_ he mutters. It hurts. He needs it to stop.

He glances up, eyes finding all the constellations Newt had shown him once upon a time. The memories don’t even feel real. Thomas begins to wonder if Newt had ever even existed.

“‘M sorry, Newt.” The name sounds unfamiliar on his tongue. Why should it be familiar? He hasn’t said it in over two years. “I tried. I tried to be happy. ‘S too much. Can’t. Not without you. Teresa. Chuck. Jorge. My fault, my fault, my fault.”

He takes a step towards the edge.

He can practically hear Newt’s voice telling him to stop. He blocks it out.

He’s so close now. Just one more step and- 

“Thomas!” _Minho_. “Thomas, what are you doing?”

Thomas shakes his head, letting out a harsh sob. “I can’t do it anymore. They’re all dead. _He’s_ dead. ‘S all my fault. I killed them. I killed all of them. Chuck, Teresa…” he pauses, then, “Newt was right to want me dead.” 

And wouldn’t that have been kinder? For Thomas to die in a world where Newt was alive?

Fate’s never been kind to Thomas.

“Thomas…” Thomas feels Minho’s hand trying to pull him from the edge, to no avail. Thomas, you didn’t kill them, okay? Chuck was killed by WICKED.” _Lie_. “Teresa? That was _her_ choice.” _Lie_. “And Newt? The _Flare_ killed him, Thomas. He wasn’t- he wasn’t in his right mind. Anything that he did at the end, that wasn’t him. You know that right?” _Stop lying_.

“He had the knife to my chest, Minho! He was gonna kill me, ‘n I was gonna let him do it.” Thomas can’t help the choked noise that escapes his throat. “Minho, I tried. I tried to hold out ‘til you brought the serum. If I had held him down, if I hadn’t been afraid of hurting him…” 

 _He would’ve lived._ The words catch in his throat.

Then Thomas looks at Minho and _crumbles_. He collapses in his friend’s arms, _sobbing_ and _weeping_ , because it’s not _fair_.

Minho buries his head in Thomas’s shoulder, and cries just as hard. 

“I love him,” Thomas chokes out. “I know I told him a million times, but-”

“He knew. He _knows_ ,” Minho says, and he sounds so _sure_. He pulls away, making Thomas look at him. “I know you miss him. Because I miss him too. So much it’s unbearable sometimes.”

“I hate it, Min. I hate _myself_ , because… because some days I think it’d just be easier to forget that he even existed in the first place. Because maybe then it wouldn’t _hurt_ so much. But that just ends up making it worse, ‘cause how could I forget him? How could I _want_ to forget him? How fucked up does that make me, huh?”

“Thomas…”

Thomas braces himself for Minho’s judgement.

“Thomas, _no_. You aren’t fucked up. You aren’t wrong for anything, okay? Everything you’re going through… that’s normal for someone who lost the person they loved in a situation like that. You know that it’s okay, right? It’s okay to _grieve_. But Thomas… he wouldn’t want this. He wouldn’t want you to cut your life short to see him sooner. If I know anything about Newt, it’s that he’s gonna wait for you.”

Thomas doesn’t know if he wants him to. He’s barely sure if he still wants to be _alive_.  

But then he looks at Minho, who looks as broken as Thomas feels. And he remembers the story Newt had told him. About how Minho had found him after his suicide attempt, how Minho had helped him to pick up the pieces.

And then Minho had lost Newt anyway.

Thomas can’t do that to him. He can’t make him go through that again.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “‘M sorry that I did that. I know it was stupid. You’re my best friend, Min. You were his. I can’t leave you to bear it by yourself.”

Minho laughs, small and scared. “Just never do anything like that again, Thomas. You’ll see him. You just gotta wait.”

Thomas nods. He could do that for Minho, no matter how hard it was.

And for the first time in two years, he doesn’t feel so far away.

 

* * *

 

Healing isn’t linear, Thomas learns, even after a year and a half since the _Cliff Incident._

It’s bad days, and good days, and lots of days where it doesn’t tip either way.

Today, though…

Yeah, he isn’t sure how to class the day he’s had.

It’d started off halfway decent. He’d been able to sleep a little later, Fry had made some _godly_ hash browns, and Gally had tripped and fallen flat on his face.

And that’s why Thomas had gone to Minho’s little house _(shack? Thomas isn’t great with words)_. Because Gally’s sufferings are hilarious, and Minho should know about them.

He opens the door without knocking- because what _hasn’t_ Thomas seen at this point- and-

Brenda and Minho making out, half-naked, apparently, is one of the things Thomas _hasn’t_ seen.

He yelps loudly, covering his eyes, then promptly running back into the door. He groans, touching his nose lightly.

“Thomas!” Okay, Minho might be pissed. Rightfully so.

“Sorry!” He half-shouts, scrambling out and slamming the door behind him.

“Did you just run into a door?”

 _Great_. _Gally_ saw.

Wait. Gally _saw_.

“Brenda and Minho are- they’re-”

“Together?”

“I was going for fucking, but sure.”

Gally snorts. “You’re oblivious to everything. Literally _everything_.” Gally turns, then yells, “Hey, Fry! Thomas ran into a door!”  

Thomas frowns, watching him go. 

_Together?_

Why hadn’t Minho told him?

“ _Thomas_ ,” he hears the grumble behind him. He turns to see Brenda, looking rather pissed off. Thomas feels heat rise to his cheeks. “He wants to talk to you, I guess. _Thanks_ , by the way.”

“Uh.” He almost apologizes, but she’s already gone by the time his brain forms the words.

Thomas walks back to the door and opens it (a little more cautiously than before).

Minho is sat on his hammock, _thankfully,_  fully clothed.  

“Um,” Thomas starts dumbly. “I wanted to tell you that Gally fell, but uh… yeah.” 

Minho snorts. “Really? That’s-”

“Are you guys together?” Thomas blurts.

Minho looks bewildered. “What?”

“You and Brenda. Are you together? Or just…”

Minho scratches the back of his neck. “Um, yeah. We are. Together.”

“You didn’t tell me.” Thomas can’t help the hurt seeping into his words.

Minho’s eyes are locked on the floor. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I didn’t know how you’d react.”

“I’d be happy for you. I _am_ happy for you. I mean, Brenda still scares me a little bit, but…”

Minho laughs, finally looking up at Thomas. Thomas smiles. “She has that effect,” Minho says fondly. He gestures for Thomas to sit beside him, and Thomas complies.

“I’m still a little mad at you, you know?” Thomas says, bumping their shoulders.

Minho sighs. “Yeah. I know. I just… felt guilty.” 

Thomas pulls a face. “Why?” 

“I don’t know. It’s not fair. I shouldn’t… why should _I_ be in a relationship when you…”

Thomas shakes his head. “That’s stupid. Just because I signed up to be forever alone doesn’t mean that you did.”

Minho’s smile is humorless. “You didn’t _sign up_ for anything.”

“Yeah, well. It’s the boat I’m in now.”

“It… Thomas, it doesn’t have to be.”

“I know. But I don’t think moving on, in that _way_ , would feel right. I’m fine alone. Because I’m _not_ alone. But _you_ … you’ve always been _painfully_ needy.”

Minho shoves him, and Thomas laughs. “In all seriousness,” Minho says, “I’m glad you approve. Even if you’re the biggest cockblock I know.”

Thomas snorts. “Says _you_. Do you even _know_ how many times you interrupted me and Newt? I’m just finally getting my revenge.” 

“Fair, I guess. Except Brenda might be a little more homicidal than Newt, so watch out.”

Thomas huffs a laugh, leaning his head against Minho’s shoulder.

“Hmm,” Minho hums after a moment. He fiddles with his necklace. “What about our engagement?”

Thomas grins. “You need a bigger hammock.”

Minho laughs, and Thomas decides that maybe this day had been a pretty damn good one.

 

* * *

 

Thomas can feel the change in himself.

It’s like he’s lighter somehow, not weighed down by every _what if?_ and _maybe_.

He feels the difference in his smile. It doesn’t feel as strained. It’s loose and genuine, and he’s _happy_.

It’s probably the first time since The Glade that he feel genuinely, unapologetically _happy_. He deserves to feel happy as much as everyone else does, as much as his friends do. As much as _they_ had deserved to.

He says their names freely now.

“I’m sure Chuck would like that.”

“Alby would probably say…”

“Whatever Jorge would do, do the opposite. Unless you wanna have fun.”

“You _really_ think Teresa would condone that?”

“Newt would’ve been so happy here.”

He finds that the ache, that always-present, soul-crushing pain, isn’t there as often. He still gets it, of course he does, but when it’s there, it isn’t nearly as sharp and new as it had been.

He misses them, but he’s healing.

He hopes that, wherever his friends are, they’re healing too.

 

* * *

 

The years pass, and things change.

Minho gets married.

Actually _married_. _Minho_.

Aris? He has a _kid_ now.

Then Thomas blinks and suddenly, the Safe Haven is bustling with them. Perfect little mixtures of kids from the Maze Generation.

And doesn’t _that_ make Thomas feel old.

Then comes the heartbreak of Minho and Brenda finding out they _can’t_. Brenda hadn’t been as affected by it, but Minho had been _devastated_.

But just like Thomas had, Minho heals, and decides that if he can’t have kids of his own, then he’s going to be the _best damn_ uncle to all of the other children at the Safe Haven.

And the kids, they _love_ Thomas’s friends. They become something resembling heroes, which Thomas just finds ridiculous. They had just been kids forced into a bad situation, and most of them hadn’t come out of it alive.

But they humor the kids, telling them about The Maze, and The Scorch, and The Last City. The kids listen in wonder, and warmth spreads through Thomas.

These kids wouldn’t know the pain that their parents had. They would grow up safe, happy, and loved.

Thomas sleeps a little easier after that.

 

* * *

 

The past fades, Thomas realizes. It fades quickly and quietly, and he barely notices until it’s too fuzzy to even recall correctly.

He can’t remember Chuck’s grin, or Teresa’s voice, or what Newt’s lips had felt like pressed against his own.

Then their faces begin to blur until all Thomas can remember is how he’d felt about them.

And sometimes, on the darker days, the feelings go a little hazy too.

 

* * *

 

“Thomas!” Someone bursts into his shack, startling him awake.

 _Fry_.

“What?” He asks blearily.

Fry’s voice is shaky, wide eyes full of tears. “It’s Brenda.”

 

* * *

 

The day after Brenda is one of the toughest they’ve had in a long time.

They sit around together, their little group of five down to four, their morality laid in front of them in the form of gray hair and aching bones.

They cry, and they grieve, but their grief feels different now.

It feels calmer, more subdued than the harsh shock they’d felt as teenagers, the painful blow of a life ending much too soon.

Because now, no matter when they lose someone, they know they aren’t too far behind.

 

* * *

 

Sonya and Harriet die two months later, then Aris four months after that.

Then they lose Fry to a cold and they’re down to three.

Then Gally dies during the night, and suddenly it’s just Minho and Thomas.

 

* * *

 

“Do you still think about them?” Thomas asks one day, years later. They’re back at the edge of the beach, where the grass and sand meet.

“Huh?” Minho asks, adjusting the hearing aid that Aris’s granddaughter had made.

“Do you still think about them? The ones we lost. Before. In the Maze years,” he clarifies, voice a bit croaky.

“Sometimes,” Minho says.

Thomas hums. “I still love Newt, I think.” The name doesn’t sound as foreign on his lips as it once had, due to years and years of storytelling. The kids had always been fond of those stories, the ones where Thomas had hearts in his eyes and love in his voice.

Minho chuckles. “Obviously.”

“I can’t really remember what he looked like, or his voice. Just that I still feel the same way I did when I was seventeen.”

“Alright, sap. We get it. Love of the ages, or whatever Fry used to call it.”

“It feels so long ago.”

“It _was_.”

Thomas smiles. “I’m glad I decided to keep you around.”

Minho huffs, lying back and closing his eyes, smile on his face. “You love me.”

“You caught me.”

It’s quiet for a second, then Minho says, “I’m glad you decided to keep me around too.” 

Thomas’s smile goes soft, and he looks out to the waves.

It reminds him of the day he’d decided to keep the cure.

The cure, which had not been used, not even once.

He closes his eyes, listening to the waves crash onto the shore. 

And he realizes it’s been quiet for a moment too long.

“Minho?”

 

* * *

  

Thomas hasn’t truly been alone since waking up in The Box.

It’s eery.

None of Brenda’s dry snark. None of Gally’s teasing words. None of Frypan’s nervous chatter.

No Minho. 

He’s surrounded by noise, by the bustle of almost three generations scurrying around the place he’d helped build.

It’s been a week since Minho, and Thomas is suddenly aware of how out of place he is. He’s from a different time, one of pain, loss, and heartbreak. One of learning, growth, and new beginnings. He’s out of place, and he’s out of time.

He’s a ghost.

And he’s ready to move on.

 

* * *

 

Thomas wakes with a gasp, jerking into a sitting position.

He feels the grated metal under his palms, hears the violent clicking of the machine around him, and is suddenly hit with the biggest case of deja vu.

He’s in The Box.

He looks down at his arms, at himself, and-

And he’s _young_.

His arms are free of any of the wrinkles and sun spots he’d developed in his later years.

Is he… _dead?_

The Box stops with a lurch, causing him to bang his head against the metal. “Fuck.”

He hears a stomp, then another, and suddenly The Box is filled with light.

And _Gally_ is there.

“Should I say it?” He grins. “Day one, Greenie. Rise-”

“Am I dead?” Thomas squeaks.

Gally pulls a face. “Yes. Why can’t you let me finish my line?”

Thomas isn’t sure what he’s supposed to feel, but he’s almost positive the _calm_ that he’s feeling is a little bizarre.

Thomas smiles. “Get me outta here.”

Gally rolls his eyes, before tugging Thomas out of The Box.

Thomas feels the need to look around, to see where the hell he is, but his view is blocked by a rather alarming crowd. 

“You have a few fans,” Gally supplies, unhelpful as ever.

He finds that he vaguely recognizes some of the faces, but most of them are fairly new. 

“You’re Thomas, right?” A young boy asks, stepping closer. He seems to be no older than thirteen or so.

“The one and only,” Gally says. “But there’s someone he should really-”

The boy _hugs_ Thomas.

“Uh,” is all Thomas can think to say.

“Thank you for keeping them safe,” the boy says after a moment. “My brother is alive because of you.”

Thomas frowns, pulling away and trying to place who this boy’s brother is. The boy’s face doesn’t match any from Thomas’s memory.

“Uh… who is your brother? Sorry.”

The boy smiles. “It’s fine, I don’t think you really knew him. He was one of the immunes you saved from the City. I was there too, but I didn’t get out. But you _saved_ him. He’s still alive there, at the Safe Haven, all thanks to you. You’re a hero.”

“Oh.” And wasn’t _that_ strange? He had barely interacted with those kids, and yet… he had apparently made quite the impression. “I, uh… I don’t know about _that_ , but-“ 

 _“Everyone! Go back to your homes! Gosh, we’re tryna have a nice reunion here!”_ A voice shouts.

Minho.

The boy backs away quickly. “Sorry,” he says, cheeks going a little red.

“No, it’s-” The boy had scurried off before Thomas even finished his sentence.

The crowd disperses some, and Thomas is left with familiar faces.

“Minho,” Thomas says with a laugh, finding his friend in the group, “you can’t just-”

Oh. 

That’s-

Oh.

Thomas blinks.

Newt.

Newt with his blonde hair and hesitant smile. Newt with his clear eyes and unmarked skin, looking just like he had the day they met. 

And oh God, Newt.

Thomas _runs_.

He practically tackles Newt, arms wrapping around him in what’s probably a too-tight hug. He presses his forehead to Newt’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of _homehomehome_. “ _Newt_.”

It’s like he’d been drowning since Newt died, and he’s suddenly surrounded by air. Like someone had taken a match to his senses. He’s hearing and seeing and, God, he’s _feeling_.

And oh, how he _loves_.

“Tommy.”

And then he feels it again. The guilt. The grief. Things he hadn’t felt this strongly in _years_. It all returns with the soft sound of Newt’s honey-sweet voice.

He pulls away, moving his hands to touch Newt’s face. “ _I’m so sorry, Newt. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”_ The words spill from his mouth in a tearful, jumbled mess.

 

His heart _aches_. Newt is here. He’s here and beautiful and _I love you, how could I ever forget you, how could I ever_ want _to forget you?_

 

“No, don’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything, okay?” Newt says, tears running down his face.

 

Thomas buries his face in the crook of Newt’s neck and _breaks_.

 

Because, _finally_ , he’s _home_.

 

* * *

 

Newt had let him to what was apparently his house after Thomas had reunited with everyone.

After he’d cried again at the sight of Chuck, and the young boy had looked at him with teary too-wise eyes and told him that he would punch Thomas if an apology even left his lips.

After Minho pulled him into a brief hug and a laugh and told him that he was glad Thomas wasn’t so old anymore.

After he’d hugged Teresa so tightly she’d laughed a little tearfully and told him he was crushing her ribs. After Thomas silenced her apologies with whispered words of forgiveness, even though he barely remembered what she was apologizing for.

After Winston and Alby had told him they were proud of him for keeping his promises to them.

After Jorge had lifted Thomas off the ground in a bone-crushing hug then ruffled his hair with a soft, “Good to see you again, _hermano_.”

After Brenda, Fry, and Gally had decided that they needed to pull him into a group hug, and, “We’re only crying because we’re stuck here with you forever… _shut up!”_  

He’d missed them, of course he had, but Newt was _right here,_ and Thomas needed to be with him.

“Were you lonely?” He asks Newt when they’re both settled next to one another on Newt’s porch.

Newt blinks. “I mean… I guess, sometimes.” The words hit Thomas like a punch to the gut. “Not lonely, I guess,” Newt adds. “I had Teresa, Alby, and Jorge. And Brenda, later. But I was always missing part of me, if that makes sense.”

“It does,” Thomas says quietly, letting his eyes roam over Newt’s face. It still doesn’t feel real, seeing Newt here, in front of him. Crystal clear instead of the fuzzy memories he’d carried for the last few decades. “I was gone for a long time after you… after you left. Minho was scared, Brenda was scared… I was scared. I mean, I nearly…” he swallows.

“I know,” Newt says gently. “I saw.”

Thomas feels his breath hitch, then he nods. “I didn’t know what else to do. I mean, I get that it was dumb, looking back, but at the time…”

“It seemed like the only way to stop hurting,” Newt finishes with a shaky smile. Thomas hates that Newt had ever felt that way. “I know. It’s not something to be ashamed of.” 

“I knew that you’d want me to live, though. And it got easier, eventually, but it was never… it wasn’t completely right . No matter how happy I was, part of me was always aware of the fact that you weren’t there.”

Looking at Newt now, he wonders how he’d gone so long without him. It’s like he’s whole again, like he’d only been breathing with one lung before.

Newt reaches out and intertwines their fingers. Thomas stiffens a bit, feeling like a nervous teenager all over again. He relaxes after a moment, remembering just how familiar all of this really is. He rests his head on Newt’s shoulder with a quiet sigh.

 _Home_.

Newt’s thumb runs across Thomas’s hand. Then he says, “You didn’t have to… I mean… you could’ve… you could have moved on, Tommy. I wouldn’t have been angry with you.”

Thomas laughs a bit. “I couldn’t have. Not from you. Not entirely. Not enough to love someone like that again.” He squeezes Newt’s hand. “I didn’t need- I didn’t _want_ someone to… to just replace you. I had the memories of you, and I knew that I’d see you again. I still had my friends. I was still working on a future for the people there. I was able to help people. I was able to see my friends happy. _I_ was happy, Newt. I don’t want you to think that I wasn’t.”

Newt kisses the top of Thomas’s head. “And I don’t want you to think that I wasn’t happy. I meant what I said in that letter, Tommy. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Thomas can think of a million things he would change. “Not even the end?” He asks.

“It wasn’t the end, though,” Newt points out. “I would have loved to spend those years with you, Tommy, but… we’re together _now_. And we have forever.”  
  
Thomas looks up at Newt, eyes teary but smiling nonetheless. The thought of Thomas loving someone else was so utterly ridiculous when Newt existed. “You have no idea how good it feels to hear your voice… to hear you say something other than what you said in my nightmares. It’s just… I missed your voice. A lot.”

Newt runs a hand through Thomas’s hair. “Get used to it. I’m gonna be talkin’ your ears off for the rest of eternity.”

“Eternity,” Thomas says with a quiet laugh. “I like the sound of that.”

Thomas stares at Newt’s lips with half-lidded eyes. Newt gives him a small smile before meeting him halfway. Their lips connect for the first time in what feels like forever, and Thomas hums softly. Newt’s hand cups Thomas’s cheek gently, the touch so light it’s barely there. 

When they break apart, a tear falls from Thomas’s eye. Newt brushes it away gently with his thumb.

“I love you so much,” Thomas says, feeling like his heart may burst if he doesn’t say it.

“I love you too, Tommy.”

 

* * *

 

Newt practically forces Thomas to visit Teresa. It’s not that he doesn’t want to- he does, _of course_ he does- but he’s hesitant to leave Newt’s side.  

But he does, because how could he _not_ want to see her.  

“Tom,” she says with a half smile when he _finally_ unglues himself from Newt’s side. She pats the ground beside her, gesturing for him to sit.

“Hey, uh…” 

He isn’t sure what they’re sitting by. Some kind of rock with… _are those… names?_

Thomas’s eyes widen a little bit upon seeing his own. 

“What’s this?” He asks, a little cautiously.

“Well, you guys had one for us,” she explains. “I figured we should have one for you guys. We cross the names out when people get here.”

“Isn’t that-” 

“A hit list? That’s what Newt said. 

“I was gonna say _creepy,_ but you made it worse,” he says with a tiny grin. She punches his shoulder.

“So,” she says after a moment, “Newt sent you?” 

He frowns. “Yeah, but, I mean… I wanted to see you. He didn’t have to-”

She laughs. “Relax. It took a while to separate Minho from Brenda, and they were only apart for a few years. I’m surprised I’m seeing you _this_ early.”

His shoulders slump a bit. “He seemed to be worried about something. Something with you.” 

She sighs. “Yeah, I… I had concerns.”

“What kind of concerns?”

“Your feelings, your… emotional ties to us, to the ones who have been here for a long time, like me and Newt… I thought they might fade. I wasn’t as nervous for him. You guys loved him. He always knew that. But I… I didn’t have the same confidence that he did.” 

His eyebrows furrow. “That’s ridiculous. How could-”

“Thomas, we were dead for a long time before you got here. A long, _long_ time. We were kids.” She shakes her head. “Plus, you were mad. I mean, not you. But Minho, Gally… everyone. Newt didn’t understand that. When he died… everyone was heartbroken. They _loved_ him. He was good, and he was their _friend_. He was everything I wasn’t when I died. I betrayed you guys. I died before I could make up for that. I could’ve saved Newt, Thomas. And everyday… he would be so excited to go See you guys. But I just,” she takes a sharp breath, “I just couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe you guys were glad that I was dead. That I deserved to be dead for everything I did to Minho. For everything I _didn’t_ do for Newt. You can’t tell me you wouldn’t be afraid in my situation.”

He blinks, stunned. “I mean… yeah. I get it.” 

She huffs.

“But that doesn’t make it true,” he says gently. “I mean, of course they were mad at first. They were upset, and grieving, and looking for someone to blame.” He sighs. “You did bad things, Teresa. That doesn’t make you a bad person. And the things you did were justified. You saw the bigger picture. We didn’t. We _couldn’t_. I think if I was in that situation again, I still wouldn’t be able to think like that, even knowing what I know now. But all of those things you did… you still didn’t deserve what happened to you at the end. None of you did.” 

She laughs wetly, and Thomas realizes she’s crying.

“Plus,” he adds, smiling softly, “you wouldn’t have ended up here if you were bad. With all of them. If you deserved to torture yourself for all of eternity, you would’ve ended up with WICKED.” He nudges her. “You’re one of us. You never stopped being one of us.”

She smiles, making eye contact with him for the first time. He hugs her, and she laughs. “Maybe my torture is being stuck here with your sappy ass forever.”

He pulls away, feigning hurt. “You wound me.”

She rolls her eyes, then hands him something.

A knife?

“Cross our your name, dumbass,” she says. “You’re one of _us_ now.”

Thomas smiles.

 

* * *

 

The bonfire is some odd mixture of deja-vu and nostalgia.

It reminds Thomas of his first night in The Glade, when everything had been warm and new and innocent. Before any of them had experienced loss on a monumental scale.

It feels warm again. For the first time in years, Thomas feels _whole_.

Newt is by his side, laughing at one of Minho’s horrendous jokes. Thomas finds himself laughing along, more because of the sheer joy he feels than at any of Minho’s jokes. (He’s heard them all anyway.) 

Teresa is leaning against Newt, quiet but clearly happy. Thomas takes comfort in their relationship, no matter how odd he finds it.

Minho stumbles around a bit, probably drunker than anyone else, but looking much calmer than Thomas has ever seen him. He looks relaxed, surrounded by his friends and his wife. He smiles wider than Thomas can ever remember seeing, which probably counts for something, since Thomas has spent more time with him than anyone.

Jorge sits a little further off, ever the _‘mature’_ one. _(Thomas knows_ mature _is about the furthest thing from Jorge.)_ His facade slips a bit with his too-fond eyes and a peace sign sent in Newt’s direction.

Fry and Winston sit by Jorge, rolling their eyes at Minho’s jokes.

Chuck and Alby are both, very unfortunately, sober. They let out groans every so often.

Thomas feels so happy. Sure, it may have something to do with the alcohol buzzing through his system, but he doubts it. Newt’s laughter is far more intoxicating.

He’s overwhelmed with the sudden closeness of _family_ he feels.

“Did you hear about the restaurant on the moon?” Minho is saying. Thomas has heard the joke a million times, but he still feels a smile tugging at his lips. 

“Please don’t…” Gally says. Thomas’s smile widens, more at Gally’s annoyance than anything. “I’m _begging-”_

“Great food, no atmosphere!”

Thomas laughs at Gally’s outraged face. He feels Newt laugh against him, and the warmth in Thomas’s chest grows.

Minho gasps. “Bren! Brenda! Did ya see?! _Newt_ laughed. ‘S how you _know_ it was a good joke.”

Suddenly, Minho barrels into Newt, wrapping him in a tight hug. Thomas presses his hand to Newt’s back to keep him from falling back.

Then Minho pulls away, a sad look on his face. _“Newt,”_ he says, and Thomas _knows_ what’s about to happen. He stifles a groan.

“Min… are you alright?” Newt asks.

  _Sweet Newt. Good Newt. Love of Thomas’s life Newt…_ just walked _right_ into it.

Minho’s eyes start to crinkle, and he leans back with a loud laugh. “No!” He shouts, and Thomas braces himself. “ _I’m_ _half_ _left!”_

Thomas laughs at the look of betrayal on Newt’s face.

Gally seems to be on the verge of a very major crisis.

“Hey, Gal, no more drinks for Min, okay?” Brenda says with an amused hum.

“Brenda, baby, please!” Minho begs.

Thomas leans down to whisper in Newt’s ear. “Hey, you wanna go to our spot? I can’t deal with anymore dad jokes.” He speaks lowly enough that Minho shouldn’t be able to make any more horrible puns. Newt nods, and the two of them try to slip away unnoticed.

But because the universe hates Thomas, Minho notices everything. “Get some!” He yells. Then, “Wait, not over there! At your house. Be safe!” His voice goes a little softer, but Thomas still hears him. “ _Gosh_ , Bren. I love them _so_ much. _So_ _much. Wow_. Has anyone _ever_ loved their friends this much?”

Thomas smiles a little bit, rolling his eyes. _Yeah_ , he thinks a little more fondly than he’d like to admit, _the feeling’s mutual._  

He grabs Newt’s hand, pulling him down to sit by the log. 

Thomas loves this damn log, as stupid as it may sound.

It reminded him of the kinder moments in his life.

Warm nights spent at this exact spot, Newt looking up at a million constellations while Thomas tried to memorize the way Newt looked with the pale lights reflected in his eyes.

Newt’s lips pressed against his on the first night, when Thomas hadn’t remembered his own name, but he knew he’d always remember the taste of bitter alcohol on his lips, and the feel of rough bark against his back.

Sweat dripping down his back after another fruitless run in The Maze, feeling much too defeated for a sixteen year old, until Minho tripped over that very same log and Thomas had laughed until his ribs ached. _(He still thinks that shank did it on purpose.)_

Chuck joining him and Newt for dinner here, and Newt had told corny jokes until the boy had actually laughed, looking so much happier than he had when he joined them.

Teresa sprawled out across the log, giggling as she made fun of Thomas, Newt and Minho laughing along with her, with Thomas blushing red beside them.

Thomas loves it.

“I spent so much time here,” Newt says, “before you got here. It just reminded me of everything back at the beginning.”

Thomas can help the warm smile that he gives Newt. Newt was _beautiful._  He was everything good in the world, and Thomas had _missed_ him.

“We have a new beginning now,” Thomas says, and the words are refreshing on his lips.

“An infinite amount of beginnings,” Newt says, smiling right back.

Thomas has had a billion endings and beginnings.

The world had ended for him with lost memories and far too many deaths.

The world had began again with confusion and grief.

But this one… this one had started with peace and happiness, and oh, _so_ _much love._ Thomas felt the love in his soul bursting at the seams, desperate to wrap around Newt and all of Thomas’s friends. It’s strong, and it threatens to consume him entirely. Thomas doesn’t mind. 

He has all the time in the world to _love, love, love._

Thomas thinks this may be his favorite beginning.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the longest thing I've ever written, WOW. I like the Newt POV version a lot better than this one but, eh. I know I'm posting this like,,, 7 months after the other but life just really comes at ya sometimes man  
> there's still more I want to do with the series but yall will probably leave after realizing imma ONE HIT WONDER !!  
> i'm sorry for this ily pls don't be mean


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